Written in the River
A Carby Reunion Saga (Post-Season 10)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of these characters.
Author's Note: Thank you in advance for your attention and comments. Please enjoy.
CHAPTER TWO: Being There
CARTER SLIPPED OUT of the AA meeting and into the parking lot of the Welles Street Community Center before Abby could see him. He waited and watched Abby exit the building with a woman, whom Carter recognized as her AA sponsor. He searched his mind for her name. Tina? Or was it Nina? It was Nina, he decided. Abby and Nina strolled toward a corner of the parking lot where a stocky man with a leather jacket sat on a motorcycle. Carter recognized him, too; he picked up Abby that night in the ambulance bay. Only this time, it was Nina who got on the back of the bike after giving Abby a big hug.
"Guess who shared today, Jimmy?" Nina leaned around to address the biker. "Yup, Miss I-don't-talk-in-front-of-strangers-I-just-come-to-these-meetings-for-the-coffee."
"No way!" the biker teased.
"Way," Nina said, feigning shock. "And she cried real tears and everything."
"I wasn't crying!!" Abby said, laughing, her face still salty from her tears.
"Yes you were, and I'm proud of you, Kiddo. After all these years, you finally shared with the group."
Anyone could see that Abby was proud of herself.
"If you need a ride next week again, Jimmy can pick you up at the hospital. It's right on his way, so no excuses, Abby. Right, Jimbo?" Nina said, embracing the driver's neck.
"You bet, Abby—as long as you don't start bawling or anything on the way," he teased.
"Why? You worried I'll get your jacket wet? Your wife tells me that jacket means more to you than she does," Abby teased back.
"Nope, she's got it all wrong. My bike means more to me than she does. My jacket is a close third," he joked. Nina pretended to slap him across the head from behind, which made Abby laugh.
"You gonna be OK on the El?" Nina asked Abby.
"Sure. Thanks, you guys. Remember, you're coming for dinner Friday. Don't be late. I don't open a box of macaroni and cheese for just anybody," Abby said as she walked away toward the train station. She heard the roar of the motor as they took off on the bike, and she felt a pang of envy seeing two people so happily in love.
Carter watched the exchange from behind an old Lincoln. He noticed how carefree she seemed with her friends, how easily she smiled.
He stepped out from behind the car as she passed.
"Hey."
She turned to see him standing alone in the parking lot.
"The meetings work better when you're inside, you know," she joked before rapidly assessing his grim mood. "This is close enough for now."
"Looks like I got here too late," he lied. "No car tonight?"
"In the shop. They're holding it for ransom. I'm headed for the El."
"Me, too."
Without another word they walked together to the steps of the El train. On the platform, she couldn't help but notice that the air around him was thick with grief and sadness and something else that Abby couldn't quite put her finger on—and neither could Carter. When the train arrived in the station, they stepped on and sat silently. He seemed so alone in his thoughts. She rubbed his arm just to penetrate his solitude.
The ride on the train is short for Abby. Almost as soon as they pulled out of Welles St., they arrived at her stop. She stood, and Carter stood with her. She looked at him, and he shrugged. "I'll walk you to your door. I don't feel like going home yet. Is that OK?"
"No problem."
"Want some tea?" she said as she swung open the gate outside her building.
"I guess," he answered indifferently, though he was relieved that she asked.
"What kind of tea do you want?" she inquired as she slipped the key in the door.
She waited for his familiar response. "Whatever you're having," he answered.
Inside, Abby turned the heat on the water and then retreated to her bedroom to drop her bag, remove her shoes, and let her hair down from its ponytail. She changed into blue drawstring pants and a light blue tank top. When she came out, Carter was seated on her couch, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The water kettle on the stove whistled angrily.
"Carter?" she said. "Carter, are you OK? John?"
As she approached him, she could see his shoulders shuddering. She quickly turned off the water, sat down next to him, and put her arm around his shoulder. He leaned over until his head was in her lap, and he began to sob. Here, in the warmth of Abby's living room, a place he'd been so many times before, the overwhelming tide of sadness broke loose, and Carter wept.
It seemed like hours before the sobbing stopped and he fell asleep, but it was only moments. Once asleep, he began to dream: Carter's father was driving an old black Lincoln. Also in the front seat was his mother. His brother Bobby sat between them. Bobby was cradling a baby. Carter's baby. His son. In the back seat was Gamma, and next to her was Abby. They were pulling away, and Carter tried to catch up with them, but his legs were made of lead so he couldn't. Only Kem stood there within easy reach. When he got to her, she gave him an icy smile. He begged her to help him reach them, but she just smiled and smiled. He shook her to get her to listen. "Kem, Kem, help me," he pleaded. But she could only smile like a pretty picture.
Abby stroked his face and kept up a soft chorus of comfort. "It's OK. Things'll get better." He was mumbling restlessly in his sleep, and she brought her ear closer to try to make out what he was saying. That's when she heard: "Kem, help me."
Abby laid her head on the back of the couch. Gee, you really must have loved her, she thought. If it hurt, she ignored it. She never once broke the rhythm of her caresses. He deserved the kind of love he seemed to have had with Kem. She knew that.
But as long as he was asleep, it was safe to touch him and hold him, and just for a minute remember what it was like.
WHEN CARTER AWOKE, it was dawn. He found himself on Abby's sofa covered with a blanket. He could see across into her room, where she slept with the door open. She left it that way so she could hear him during the night. Carter used her bathroom to splash water on his face. Then he quickly gathered himself for his early shift.
Carter grabbed a prescription pad from his shoulder pouch and scribbled a note. He quietly entered Abby's room and walked softly over to the nightstand at the far side of her bed. He passed a tall chest of drawers with a small china bowl on top and was surprised to see his old key to her apartment exactly where he dropped it that morning he returned from Kisangani—the first time.
He carefully angled the note on Abby's nightstand to ensure she'd see it when she awoke. But before he turned to leave, he stopped to take her in with his eyes. The early morning sun was creeping in her window and cast a golden light on her face. Green embroidered butterflies on her pillowcase danced around her head. He'd almost forgotten how soft her skin was, how her hair draped over her face as she slept, and how those rosebud lips made her look so sweet. Her breathing was slow and rhythmic, and he watched her chest move up and down beneath her little blue shirt. My God, she's beautiful, he thought.
Looking at her then, he decided he shouldn't have done it—shouldn't have unburdened all his pain upon her last night. After all, she is doing so well now without him; he heard it with his own ears. How could he have visited his grief upon her that way? But he was in so much pain these last few weeks, and letting go in her safe and familiar arms was what he needed. His heart felt lighter for the first time in weeks.
With a spring in his step, Carter left and trotted down the stairs of Abby's apartment house. He swung his jacket over his shoulders, reached for the outer door, and came face to face with Dr. Nelson, psychiatric resident at County.
NEXT . . .
Chapter Three: Like Riding a Bike